The Bridge Between
by FlyingHampsterOfDoom
Summary: She had just quit her job, she was tired, and she wanted to go home. Yet the three men before her thought that showing off their cool abilities and flashing some red hair would get her to go with them. Yeah. That's how people were murdered.
1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note at the end, because, who really reads those before the story, right? (**_**Well, who really reads those to begin with, but just humor me will you?**_**)**

**Disclaimer: Not mine. This applies to all chapters, because I hate writing these things, it ruins the "flow" of things (i.e. I'm a very lazy person).**

Sean hadn't really been sure about what to expect from this whole set-up. Yeah, Erik and Charles had explained his role in the CIA and its newly-formed mutant division; and, once away from prying eyes and sensitive ears, they had talked about the whole _saving the world_ thing. It had been a little unnerving to watch Charles explain it all so calmly while driving the sleek black car, with Erik interjecting occasionally from the passenger's side.

Really, after being told you were going to help save the world, what were you supposed to expect? The two men in the front seats looked so calm about it all that he almost felt it was a joke. Apparently, though, he was the last to join this super-hero team or whatever it was, so at least, if it was a joke, he wouldn't be the only one to have been duped.

But of all the things he was expecting- a bullet-riddled car chase through congested traffic, or perhaps being told that they would all assemble when the beacon called them (he read Batman comics, and that's how the heroes were _always_ called in to help)- he wasn't expecting a mostly quiet car ride to his house, so that he could _pack_ for his super-secret CIA job. The world was in danger, and it sounded like time was of the essence; couldn't the government afford to buy him a couple spare outfits?

He didn't even know what he'd say to his parents, 'oh hey, yeah, so apparently I'm needed for something hush-hush that you can't know about. Might die, no big deal. Maybe I'll see you guys around Christmas?' Hell, his mom didn't even know he had this weird ability, what was it Charles had called it? A mutation? That sounded kind of cool, and a little derogatory.

His dad had been pretty laid-back about it all, really, which hadn't surprised him. His dad took everything, every_body_ as they were, no questions asked; as long as they were good people he didn't seem to care. Which Sean always thought funny, since his dad was a raving lunatic when it came to politics- always yelling about who was right and who was wrong and how the country was going to fall apart.

His mom though. He hadn't told her, and his dad hadn't questioned him as to why, never pushed him to do so. He was worried about what she might do, what she might _think_ of him. And anyway, how do you tell someone something like that? He hadn't told his dad, it had just sort of happened, and afterwards his dad had handed him a beer and told him to be careful 'out there in the real world' as he'd put it.

They were about five miles away from his house, and Sean still didn't know what he'd say, to either of his parents really- and, oh _hell_, what about his little sister? He'd been so focused on the possible scorn his mother would give him that he hadn't even thought about how much it would hurt to say goodbye to his sister, _possibly forever_. Maybe this wasn't such a good idea, agreeing to go with two older men to a covert CIA base to potentially save the world and quite probably leave behind everything he had ever cared about.

When put like that it sounded crazy. What could he do, really? He could break glass, wow. Charles hadn't gone into detail about what exactly this team of his would be fighting against, but he doubted it would have anything to do with an evil army of glass men.

The car swerved dramatically left, away from his house, and Sean felt momentarily relieved before panic started to settle in. He was in a car, alone, with two strange men who had abilities like him, _oh God he was going to be murdered_.

Charles smiled over his shoulder at him, but quickly returned his attention to the road, "Sean, sorry about this, it's a bit of an unexpected side-trip. Apparently, there's another mutant just down the road from where you live," he seemed almost giddy as he said this, and both Sean and Erik eyed him like he was insane.

"I thought we already had everyone we needed for the team, Charles?" Erik asked, giving his friend a meaningful look. Sean was sure there was some sort of brain-communication-thing going on between the two, and he felt almost insulted that he was being left out of the loop.

"Yes. Well. Didn't really notice them until we got this close, something's a bit off, I think; sounds interesting, doesn't it?" He said with a smile, to which Sean rolled his eyes and made himself comfortable in the back seat.

It only took about five minutes before they pulled up in front of a small diner, and Sean was quite content to sit in the car and wait for the two older mutants to do their recruiting _thing_ or whatever they were planning on, but Erik opened the back door and gave him a hard look. Well, so much for sitting this one out and trying to further brain-storm ideas on how to break the whole 'mutant' thing to his mother.

He followed in after them, barely managing to avoid being hit by the door that _someone _didn't feel the need to hold open for him. He glared at Erik's back and directed very loud, angry thoughts towards him; he knew Erik wouldn't be able hear them like Charles could, but he certainly hoped that he would at least be able to _feel_ them.

Charles smirked in his direction, shaking his head a little, before looking around the diner and carefully selecting a booth, Erik scooting in next to him. Awesome, so now not only did he feel like the awkward tagger-on, he looked the part, too.

He was still embroiled in his angry thoughts, trying to rearrange his legs under the table so he didn't feel quite so awkward, when a very frail looking girl walked up to their table with a small smile.

"Hello, welcome to the Mercury Grill, what can I get started for you?" She asked, leaning over the table to hand them each a menu, her heavy necklace making a _thump_ sound as it hit the table. Sean eyed her from his corner of the booth and received a raised eyebrow from Charles for his efforts. Opening his hands in the universal _what?_ gesture, he reached for the menu while still looking over at their waitress.

Her light yellow dress seemed like it had fit, once upon a time, but now it hung loose around her waist, and one of the straps kept falling down her shoulder, much to her obvious annoyance.

Her skin was almost an unhealthy pale color, and he could clearly see the light smattering of freckles she had dotted across her cheeks and over her bare arms- something he was positive would be barely noticeable if she had a healthier color to her. The brown hair she kept in a high pony tail looked as if it was desperately clinging on to its once long-ago luster, and the few pieces that fell around her face curled in a way that seemed almost like they were stubbornly clinging onto their formerly healthy selves.

All in all, Sean thought, she looked a couple months away from needing a stay in a hospital, and the only thing about her that looked well-cared for was her necklace: what appeared to be a thin, golden pocket watch attached to a matching thick chain. He raised his eyebrows at Charles, who was smiling warmly at her, and then looked towards Erik, who seemed to have the same reservations about the girl as he did.

"Yes, my friends and I were actually wondering-" Charles began, but was cut off smoothly by Erik.

"If you serve pie here?" Charles glanced at him in mild annoyance, but kept quiet, obviously recognizing that there were going to have to be _words_ exchanged before they went about the actual recruiting process.

With a bob of her head, the waitress smiled at them and answered, "yes, we have several kinds- our most popular being apple- but we also have cherry, peach, and several others. Is that all you'll be wanting, or should I come back in a couple of minutes?" She asked, looking mostly at Erik.

"I think we'd like to start off with coffee, please, and we'll look over the menu to see which kind of pie we'd like, thanks," Charles was the one to answer, and Sean felt a little left out of this talking circle that seemed to be going on.

"Actually, could you make my coffee a coke, please?" He interjected, just to say something, and found himself at the center of attention of their waitress, of whom he still didn't know her name. It felt a little awkward to just be thinking of her as 'the waitress' when they were trying to recruit her for a possibly deadly mission to save the world. At least, he thought they were, it seemed that Erik wasn't really too hot on the idea, and he couldn't really blame him. She looked like a strong wind wouldn't just knock her down, but kill her.

She nodded slightly at him, smiled a little awkwardly around the table at them all, and then rushed off to the kitchen, glancing over her shoulder at them as if she suspected they weren't exactly on the straight and narrow.

"Charles, really?" Erik asked lazily, reaching across the table to grab a sugar packet. The confused look on Charles' face was _not_ what Erik or Sean had been expecting.

"I don't see why not. She clearly needs our help, Erik, isn't that part of what we're doing here?" Charles gave Erik a hard look, daring him to refute his statement.

"Charles, we're trying to find people who will help us, do you even know what she can do?" He paused to shift his sugar packet closer to his cutlery, and looked back up at his friend, "what sort of help are you thinking of? I don't think we'll exactly be in the best position to give it, not at the present moment," he shifted his attention to Sean momentarily, and Sean knew he was debating exactly how much he wanted to say with him sitting there, "maybe- after we've gotten our current issue out of the way- we'll be in a better position to do some real, actual help here."

"No, I don't think you understand-" Charles cut himself off as they all noticed the waitress walking towards their table, cups in hand and uneasy smile in place.

"Here's your drinks, coffees for you two and a coke for you," she said, no hint in her voice of the discomfort she seemed to be feeling in their presence. Sean wondered briefly if it was just them, or if it was her job in general; that is, until she slid his coke in front of him and he instantly felt like he had been partitioned off to the kiddy table. Why had he decided to order a coke again?

"Have you decided, or should I give you three a couple more minutes?" Oh yeah, it was because she wasn't even _looking_ at them when she was at their table, not really, not until one of them talked. And he'd felt left out, wanted to be noticed as part of the group too, wanted to pretend like he was actually a participant in the whole fiasco that recruiting her had somehow become. And all they'd done thus far was order drinks.

"I think we'll just have a slice of apple pie each," Erik said, and was immediately caught up in her attention, her light brown eyes watching him with something that felt uncannily like an assessment of his threat level; it was unnerving, to be sized up by such a waif of a girl.

"Umm... could you substitute cherry for mine instead?" Sean interrupted the moment, face scrunched in distaste. It was now _him_ on the receiving end of her judgmental stare, and whatever she was seeing seemed to make her feel, not scared- at least he didn't think that was the emotion that she seemed to be giving off- but more, cautious. That was the only way to describe the shaky nod she gave to him before scurrying off to another table whose patrons had just arrived.

"I wasn't able to see her on Cerebro," Charles smoothly finished his sentence as if there hadn't been an interruption, grabbing his own sugar packet to add to his coffee. "In fact, I wouldn't have ever known she was here if I hadn't heard her specifically thinking about '_how that was the third doctor unable to tell her what was wrong,_' and some grumblings about needing to buy another alarm clock, they just don't seem to work for her. That's a pretty strong thought, for me to get it several miles away."

"Yes. Fascinating. And this all makes her a mutant how?" Erik asked in a low voice, sipping his coffee and flicking his unused sugar packet to Charles, who gratefully added it to his own coffee.

Charles looked at them both for a measuring moment, before responding in a subdued voice, that Sean was guessing was the closest they'd ever get to hearing Charles Xavier actually being abashed, "well, we don't really know. I wanted to have a conversation with her, just long enough to see if a few key words kick up any _interesting_ thoughts. She keeps rushing off though," Charles sighed into his cup and glanced at Erik. Sean didn't need to be a mind-reader to know that Erik had jumped from doubt, right over annoyance, and directly onto amusement.

"All of this because you think you've found a puzzle," he replied, shaking his head at his friend.

Three slices of pie slid in front of them, and when Sean lazily rolled his head up to look at her, her smile seemed a little less forced. He was already eating his cherry pie with relish when she spoke to them.

"Can I get you anything else?"

"No, I think that will be all for now," Charles began, and was once again cut off, this time by the waitress. She was pretty good, Sean reasoned, to be able to cut off someone that obviously wanted to continue talking, without seeming rude.

"Okay then, no rush, but here's the check for the pie, and whenever you're done you can pay at the front counter," she said, not looking at Charles while she did so, under the guise of picking up the menus. It really was a smooth way to end a conversation before it even began, and Sean almost felt like laughing at the slightly crestfallen look on Charles' face.

The two older mutants watched her weave her way back into the kitchen, ignoring a man from the group that had recently arrived.

"She's avoiding us," Charles said, brow furrowed.

"Well yeah, she's been skirting around us since we sat down and asked for _pie_," Sean said, not looking up from his food. Charles frowned over at him, before touching his fingers to his temple and staring vaguely in the direction she had taken. Sean glanced up from his pie, and with his mouth still full, asked, "whah 'r eww 'oing?" Which, obviously, was a highly condensed version of his thoughts, of which were this: _Is he really trying to read her mind right now? What's he even gonna get? A complaint about how Jack or whatever his name is from the table over there keeps trying to flag her down? The recipe for this delicious pie? And is he really _touching his temple while he tries to read her mind? _That's got to be the most obvious give away I've ever seen. Anyone who knows he can read minds will know right away when he's doing it. But, then again, how many people _really _believe in others being able to read their minds?_

"Sean, stop thinking so loud," and then Charles was quiet for several minutes. Several _uncomfortable_ minutes. All Sean had to occupy himself was the metal-bender across from him, and he really didn't think Erik would find it as amusing as he would if he asked the other man to bend a spoon. And just how, exactly, does someone change the volume of their thoughts?

"Well, this has been interesting, and the pie was delicious, really it was, but I think it's time we left, Charles," Erik muttered when the man he was seated next to was quiet longer than Erik's attention span seemed to allow for.

"No, no, I think I've got it," Charles replied, voice low to match Erik's, "she... Well I'm not really certain here, but she _senses_ people, I think. She knows we want something from her, which is why she's been avoiding us, it's there in her thoughts. Though she's not fully aware of it, I think; she's muttering about how we felt off to her, and she hopes we leave soon because she _just knows_ we want something from her," Charles flicked his eyes over to the table with the man she'd been ignoring, and his eyes twinkled slightly before he continued, "and, apparently, she thinks _he's_ skeevy, even though he hasn't tried anything on her. Rightfully so, his thoughts are simply rude."

Sean smirked over at the other table, glad to know that he'd been right about at least a portion of her thoughts, before gulping down his coke in one go and looking towards Erik. Clearly, he was just here because Erik didn't trust him in that swank car alone, so he might as well stop pretending with himself that he would be of any use in this recruitment. If there even would be, it was all very confusing.

"How fascinating. Congratulations Charles, you've found a mutant. However, my initial statement still applies: we don't know what she can do, if she could be of any use, and we most certainly aren't properly equipped to help her. Not at this time, at least."

Charles suddenly frowned, fingers still to his temple, and didn't appear to have heard Erik at all. Both Sean and Erik shifted in their seats when they heard yelling from the kitchen, and Charles dropped his hand to the table. His fingers played with the edge of the table while the yelling continued, and finally he met Erik's gaze.

"I think her abilities, whatever they may be, are killing her." There was a pause, that to Sean wasn't long at all, but he was experienced enough in Charles' creepy head-talking to know that a short time was all that was really needed to have an intense conversation, before both mutants broke eye contact and stood from their booth.

Erik was out the door first, waiting by the car that was parked at the far corner of the parking lot before Sean even knew they were leaving. Charles didn't bother to pay the bill up front, he simply dropped some cash to the table, glanced at Sean, and left the diner as well. _Well, guess we're leaving._

**Ok, so two things:**

**1) I'm going to have the second chapter pick up where this one left off (obviously), but be from my OC, the waitress', perspective. Expect it some time tomorrow. (I was going to continue this and have it be all one large chapter, but it's midnight now and I've got work early in the morning.)**

**2) I love Banshee, even in the comics where his story line kind of sucks, (person opinion, I understand if you want to fight with me on this, but please don't because I won't really say anything other than 'sweet, you love his story line.') but I really felt that there needed to be more of him in the X-Men: First Class category. There needs to be more of him in general, but I think he's the right combination of sweet and lame in the movie, so I'm sticking to it. I am planing on throwing in a couple of small things here and there to reference his comic story line, hopefully it works!**

**YOU GUYS. There's a whole ton of awesome slash for him. I loves me some slash. But most of it's one-shots, and I am a sucker for a good OC. There's so little out there that I decided to write my own.**

**I apologize to everyone for this. **

**Don't expect super-amazing-romance-time right off the bat. I'm someone who loves to make my characters wait forever before they realize they even like each other, and then agonize over it for a bit. I'm not certain if they'll even be a kind-of thing by the end of the movie arc (I've got vague ideas for the end of the movie. Luckily by the time the movie bit ends I should have it all ironed out). So I apologize for that also.**

**3) {I lied there are now three} I AM A BETA. There, I said it, I'm whoring myself out. One of the people I Beta for recently bowed out, and I've got an open slot. If anyone's thinking of writing a Banshee fic and they're looking for a Beta, I would LOVE to do so. I'm mostly talking about stories that are going to be long-term here, (as in I will be your best-Beta-friend-for-lyfe and all that) but I also beta one-shots. So please, please, please, please, write Banshee fic. I will Beta for you.**

**Pimping done.**

**Did anyone even read this? Because if you did you're awesome and I don't know why you read past 1). None of it's important at all.**


	2. Chapter 2

**So I wrote this chapter under the influence of three cups of coffee, four hours of sleep, and a terrible day at work. What I'm saying here is that I think I got all the mistakes, but I make no promises.**

Riley was on the verge of a mental breakdown, and try as she might, she couldn't get herself to just _calm down_ and deal with how shitty the day was turning out to be.

Waking up sick wasn't a surprise, not anymore at least- after all, she'd been consistently sick for several months now- but it still wasn't the best way to start things. Add to that the annoying fact that her brand-_I-just-fucking-bought-this-thing-yesterday-_new alarm clock had up and decided to die on her, with the result of her not having enough time to shower before work, and she was already firmly on the 'I want everything to die' end of the spectrum.

And then those three, well, not _weirdos_, but slightly _off_ men had sat in her booth. Her booth, not Wendy's, and she knew it had been on purpose. She saw the way the brown-haired one had looked around intently, and sure, Wendy would call her paranoid for thinking it; after all he could have been searching for his definition of the perfect booth, or whatever slightly-off men with handsome features and intelligent eyes did. But she knew he was looking for her.

Then James, that pig, had come in with his friends and sat down at one of her booths as well. Wendy really _did_ think she was crazy for wanting to avoid James. 'He's practically perfect Riley! Always quiet, always says please, plus he's a good tipper- just go out with him already!'

Yeah, and wind up stranded on the side of some road when she refused to even so much as bat her eyelashes at him.

It wasn't until after serving the trifecta-o'-odd their pie and dodging James- again- that her sickness decided to fully manifest itself via a trip to the bathroom to throw up.

She was still sitting on the floor, a hand pressed to her forehead, when her boss pushed his way into the small entrance of the one-person employee restroom.

"Again, Riley?" His tone was soft, and that somehow made it worse; he was worried about her, had been helping her find specialized doctors who would maybe be able to tell her what was _wrong_ with her. But his patience was wearing thin; her poor work performance affected his just blossoming business, after all.

"Yeah, again," she sighed, pulling her hair out of its elastic band. "I can't do this anymore Mike."

"Naw, come on, you can help me grill the burgers, there's not too many people out there right now, Wendy'll cover you for a bit," he said, pulling her up carefully by her arm.

They were silent while Riley washed her hands a grabbed a few pieces of gum, Mike tossing her a spare spatula and apron.

She toyed with the strings on the apron, trying to figure out how best to address the topic of her quitting with Mike; it was painfully obvious to her that he didn't want to let her go. He'd practically coddled her the first day she came in sick some six months ago- whisking her into the kitchen and sitting her down on a large bar stool to spend the day slicing vegetables for salads and burger toppings.

He'd driven her home on the nights that she shook so severely that she couldn't balance on her bike, and even offered to drive her to a couple doctor appointments. He was her family now, and she looked after her family.

So it was her responsibility to quit because he clearly wasn't going to fire her. She couldn't keep this job, not when she was barely even _doing_ the job; it wasn't right for her to be paid for doing nothing, especially when Mike was trying so hard to make this diner work. Especially when he had a real family to care for.

Wendy chose that precise moment to walk into the kitchen, big mouth already open, "back in the kitchen again?"

Riley's back stiffened. It wasn't her fault she was sick, it wasn't like she was purposefully deciding to make herself miserable and completely useless.

"I'll need you to cover her tables Wendy," Mike said, not looking up from the order sheet Wendy placed in front of him.

"No way! I've already got more than I can handle!" Wendy's eyes traveled over to Riley, who was still clutching the spatula as if it could solve all of her problems, "what's the point in even coming in if you're not going to work?" She seethed at her.

Mike pretended not to hear, because as much as he cared for Riley, it was something that he himself had been thinking as her time in the kitchen had started to increase.

"That would be a valid point for you to make, Wendy, if it didn't make you a hypocrite," Riley said, voice raised as she fought the urge to throw the spatula at the other woman.

"A _hypocrite-_"

"Yes, you complete moron. A hypocrite. What I am saying here is that, even though you are out there and not in here, you are not actually doing any more work. Why do you think your tips are always so small?"

"The _only_ reason I'm not able to do my job is because I'm having to do _yours_ as well! You should do everyone a favor a quit so we can get someone who will be able to do the work instead of lounging around looking pathetic!" Wendy shouted, then turned on her heel and began to fill up several cups with drinks.

Riley threw her spatula into the soapy water of the sink, and spat back, "alright, fine. I quit. Mike, washing this spatula is the last thing I will do here. Since I _so obviously_ don't do any work when I'm here, giving my two week's notice would be pointless- me being here for two weeks and getting paid to do _nothing_ would be equal to you not having an employee for however long it takes to replace me." And with that, she set to work at scrubbing the spatula, ignoring the hair that fell into her face due to her lack of ponytail.

She placed the spatula in the drainer to dry, and, ignoring her still wet hands, walked out into the front of the diner, not even pausing over the small sputtering noises that Mike was making behind her.

"Hey, Riley! There you are! I was wondering if-" James waved her over, clearly not noticing the dark look spread across her face.

"_What? _ You were wondering _what_ James? If I could refill your drink again? If I could get you another fork because you seem to have 'accidentally' dropped yours? If I would like to go out some time? No. No I can't do any of those things. Stop asking me, and go bother someone who will settle for you," she said, untying the apron from around her waist and throwing it harshly into the booth that the odd pie-eaters had just vacated.

On the plus side, at least she'd managed to escape whatever it was _they_ wanted from her, she thought as she made her way towards her bike.

"Ah, looks like you parked the car in the perfect spot, Charles, how very _convenient_," she heard one of the men say. Great.

"Yes, well, tricks of the trade and all that," the other said. When was the red-head going to pipe in with something contradictory?

"Hello, I don't believe we've been properly introduced. I'm Erik Lehnsherr, and this is my good friend Charles Xavier, that over there is Sean Cassidy," Erik greeted, extending his hand towards her; she glanced at the three of them, and hid an amused smirk at the affronted way Sean looked over how flippantly he'd been introduced.

Clearly, today's mountains were about to become molehills when pitted against whatever it is these three wanted.

**So, once again, I had so much more planned for this chapter than what I actually wrote. I think I should stop **_**planning**_** chapters and just kind of let them write themselves- I mean, as long as I know where it's going it'll all work out, right?**

**But anyway, next chapter will be the actual recruiting thing, and, once again, I've got more than that planned, but if it goes the same route as these two then I think that's all you'll be getting.**

**Let me know what you think- good and bad. If you don't tell me what you don't like, I can't fix it!**


	3. Chapter 3

**Once again: Let me know what you guys like/don't like so I can either keep doing it, or fix it. **

Riley spent what she supposed was a good amount of time just starting at the three of them, alternating her gaze between the bright blue eyes of Charles, the floppy red hair of Sean, and the still extended hand of Erik. It was a large enough pause on her part that it was becoming awkward, and she began to feel pressured into accepting the handshake that Erik was _still_ offering her even though a full minute had gone by.

"Um... Well, my name's Riley," she said, clasping Erik's hand, and then added, "Riley Bloom," when it became obvious that the handshake wasn't going to end until she properly introduced herself.

"Going home early?" Charles asked, and Riley shifted uncomfortably on her feet. Had they overheard her argument? That wasn't really a conversation she had wanted others to hear.

"Uh, yeah, look, I don't really understand what it is you're, well, what you're doing here," she said, looking around Erik and towards her bicycle; she was so _close_ to being able to leave. Maybe if she ran for it and didn't look back, she could make it out onto the main street and lose them before they got into their car to try and follow her.

"Yes, I suppose we should probably explain why we're out here waiting for you. I don't blame you for feeling nervous, Riley, after all our behavior is highly abnormal," Charles said, and Riley felt the bottom of her stomach drop. She had been right, they _did_ want something from her.

Of course, she should know better by now than to second-guess her instincts in these matters; it was almost like some sort of scarily accurate sixth sense that she had developed when it came to the generality of people's motives, and she hadn't been wrong yet. She trusted in it so much that she'd once let a complete stranger stay the night in her apartment.

Charles raised his eyebrows at her, and she got the distinct impression that she was going to be overwhelmed by whatever he said next.

"Now that's a story I'd be very interested to hear. Why, exactly, were you letting strange men sleep in your apartment?"

Her mouth fell open, and her hands twisted together in an unconscious move to try and find purchase; some sort of _sanity_ in an otherwise bizarre and alien world.

"I- what?" Was the most comprehensible thing she seemed capable of saying just then. How could he have ever known that? It wasn't a moment she was particularly proud of- well, she _was_ in that perverse, I-helped-someone-out kind of way- but she knew how foolish it was to willingly open up her house to someone else, and as such she felt even just a small amount of shame for having done it. Just enough that she hadn't told anyone about it.

"Well, you were just then thinking about how much you trusted in your ability- so much that you let someone into your apartment. I'd like to hear that story, know how it began and ended. You know, see just how far these abilities of yours go," Charles expanded, quite unhelpfully, she felt.

Really, he could read her _thoughts?_ Is that what he had cornered her in this parking lot for? To feed her a complete nutter story?

"Yes. Sort of. We're actually here for more than just reading your mind, actually," he said again, _answering questions she hadn't said out loud._ Oh God, this was starting to get scary.

"Charles, I'm sure the conversation you're having with her is very interesting, but the rest of us are only getting your half and it's rather confusing," Erik said, reminding her of his presence.

"Oh good, so you can't all read my mind then," and that was the first thing to come out of her mouth. She huffed at her own stupidity- honestly, was she really going to believe that he could read her thoughts?- and directed her attention onto Erik, still keeping herself aware of what Charles was doing.

"No, though I _can_ do this," Erik replied, and then proceeded to open the passenger's side car door. From five feet away.

"Alright. Alright," she paused for several seconds, her hands raised in the air, and eyed both men before her as if she was currently being faced with a particularly vexing logic problem. "So, you came into the diner, sat in _my_ booth, ordered _pie_, and then waited for me in the parking lot, all so you could show me that you can open a door magically, and tell me that somehow our minds are linked? Was there some sort of secret government experimentation going on with me that I don't know about, that like, I don't know, somehow makes our brains operate on the same wavelength or something?"

Charles actually laughed at her, as if she were joking. It was insulting, actually- here she was, calmly accepting that they could do things that other people couldn't, and he was laughing at her trying to figure out just why in the hell they felt the need to tell _her_ of all people. The only explanation for them being here, clearly, was that they were somehow test-buddies, otherwise there was no point in them talking to her. It wasn't as if she could do anything like what they were showing her.

Charles sobered rather quickly, looking her over briefly before settling his eyesight on her necklace. "That's a lovely pocket watch," he commented, and she smiled as she looked down at it.

"It's the only watch that I can get to work anymore; it belonged to my father," she said, picking up the thin watch and opening the hatch to look at the face.

"Oh, I'm sorry to hear about your father," Sean said, and it was the first thing she'd heard him say since this whole weird-abilities thing had started, she'd almost forgotten he was there.

"He's still alive," her smile widened as she said this, relief rushing into her with those simple words, with the reassurance that they brought.

He hadn't always been alive, there had been three entire minutes where he'd been dead, and they had been the most gut-wrenching minutes she'd ever experienced; suspected they would be the worst moments of her life ever, no matter what her life held in store for her.

It had been just been her home with her parents that day, and every time she thought over it, she wished desperately that her older brother had been there; he would've known what to do right away, and there would've been no need for her heart to vanish for the three minutes her father had laid there, dead. Because he wouldn't have died.

Six months ago- she had to remind herself constantly that it was six months ago, and not something that was going to happen any second- her father had collapsed in the kitchen.

Just, fell.

His eyes had stared straight ahead, as if he was enraptured by the refrigerator door, and his hands had curled in on themselves while his legs twitched.

Her brother would have known right then what was happening, would have known what to do; her brother the _almost _doctor, who hadn't been home that day because he had a study group.

But she hadn't known what to do, and her mother had been crying hysterically into the phone, and help wasn't getting there fast enough. She had watched his eyes cloud over, and felt her ribs suck themselves painfully into the empty void her lungs and heart left behind.

She'd recently learned CPR- some new technique that her brother had taught her from his classes- and it was all she could think to do because _her father wasn't breathing_ and she couldn't feel his pulse anymore _oh God please don't let him die._ _Please don't let him be dead. Please don't let me lose him._

Her mother continued to cry into the phone, yelling words that she couldn't make out despite their volume, and she still continued to pound on her father's chest.

_1-2-3-4-5_ _for the love of God don't die_, her hands were shaking and she felt the nausea building up in her throat and there was a static noise in her ears blocking out even the sound of her own ragged breathing.

_1-2-3-4-5 just take in one breath damn it! _The static was so loud it almost hurt, and the glaring lights from the kitchen were reflecting oddly off of her tears, making it seem like her trembling fingers were streaking the air around their bodies with crackling light.

It was when she was shaking so severely that she thought she was going to cause herself harm and the blood in her veins began to fizz and pulse in time with the static in her ears, that her father finally took in a breath; and another one after a brief coughing fit.

A stroke, her father had had a stroke. His heart had stopped, and then it had started again.

"Because of you, because of what you can do" Charles whispered, eyes creased at their corners in an unmistakeable show of sadness.

She gave him an odd look, measuring him for a moment, before responding, "no, because of a miracle."

Erik snorted from his new spot where he rested on the hood of the car, and she didn't bother arguing her point with either of them. 'What you can do'? She'd done CPR, and it was a miracle that it had worked.

"You've been getting sick since just about after your father's stroke though, yes?" Charles changed the topic, and she nodded a yes. "And none of the doctors you've seen have been able to tell you what's wrong?"

"No, though the last one sent some blood samples to several associates, he's hoping one of them might be able tell us something."

"We're building a team," Charles began, shooting Erik a look before he could say anything, "that will be a part of the CIA. I think you would make an excellent addition."

"A team? Suppose I humor you and believe this whole 'team' business, what exactly is it that this team will be doing, and who else will the team be comprised of?" She asked, arching a brow at Charles and glancing accusingly at both him and Erik, as if she suspected they were trying to lure her into their van with promises of candy.

"Well, see, part of it we can't tell you until you're actually on the team and at the CIA base where we'll be staying, so that's a bit tricky. The basics of the team's purpose though are to help stop someone with abilities like ours. And, well, that kind of explains who else will be on the team- other mutants, like you and I," Charles said, a smile on his face that she supposed he thought was both charming and convincing, but wasn't really either.

"And you want me _why?_ I can't read minds, open doors, or- erm," she flipped her hands in Sean's general direction, "have red hair. All in all I think my most important contribution to any team that would ever be assembled _anywhere _would be knowing how to change a light bulb."

"I don't open doors-" Erik began, before being cut off by Charles.

"You don't think you can do anything? We'll have to work on that. Even so, if you don't think you'll be a good contribution to our efforts, at the very least join us because it will be beneficial for you. I promise you, if you join my team, we _will_ find out what's wrong with you."

"And how can you promise that?"

"We've got the best people on our team, and the best people supporting our team," Charles smiled almost smugly at her, knowing that she wouldn't turn him down, not with a promise like that; not when she had medical bills piling up and she still wasn't any closer to knowing why she was always so sick.

With a deep sigh, she looked at each of the three men before saying, "all right, fine. I'll join your super-power CIA team or whatever it is. Where to now?"

"Sean's house, he still needs to pack, and I believe your apartment is actually on the way to the airport, isn't it?" Charles replied, already getting into the black car, Erik following after him.

Sean and Riley eyed each other for a moment, before he shook his head at her and got into the car as well, scooting over so she wouldn't have to walk around to the driver's side to get in.

Well, packing wasn't really what she had expected would come next after agreeing to help fight some super villain or whatever it was they were doing.

**Oh lord, I had wanted to get in them actually going to Sean's house in this chapter, but I guess that didn't work out. **

**I suspect the next chapter will probably be quite boring (I suspect these past chapters have been pretty boring, since it's all just been set-up, and that's **_**always**_** dull) and, unfortunately, I might not be able to get it out as fast as these ones have been. I've got several appointments this week, as well as school starting back up. I'll try and write in between all this chaos, but I make no promises.**

**Oh, and yeah, obviously she **_**does**_** have a mutation, and no, it's not to bring people back to life. It's actually kind of complicated, and more of a show-and-not-tell mutation. Hopefully I don't make it too confusing when it's finally discussed/figured out, but that won't be for a little while yet anyway.**


	4. Chapter 4

**Turns out I got my appointment dates mixed up, which means I get to update today instead of sometime within the murky future! Yay!**

Sean was distinctly uncomfortable about being in the back seat with Riley. He was uncomfortable in general about being in the car with Charles and Erik, but that was a fate he had resigned himself to. One that was easier to deal with from the back seat, where it was harder to see the way that Erik practically shook with impatience; where it was easier to pretend that the leather chair somehow blocked his thoughts from Charles.

But he wasn't able to pretend that there were barriers between him and the new girl, which normally wouldn't have bothered him- his mother always said he was a people person- but her anxiety seemed to amplify _his_ anxiety and it was just all around bad news.

Shifting his legs slightly, he glanced over at her and tried to keep his questions to himself. It wasn't easy, what with Charles conducting his one-sided conversation earlier and her fierce determination that she wasn't able to do anything, not like Erik could; not like he could. It made him curious, made him want to ask questions, and he wasn't used to being quiet for so long; it had been hard enough to keep his thoughts to himself when she'd been talking to them outside the diner.

And then she'd only agreed to join because she thought it would somehow help her; he couldn't decide if he thought that was selfish or not. They were out to stop a threat to the world, and she was concerned about herself. Of course, she also didn't think she'd be of any real help to the team, so maybe she hadn't wanted to join because she figured she'd just get in the way.

That's why he hadn't wanted to join at first.

It had taken Charles fifteen minutes to talk him around to agreeing to come, and even then it had taken a harsh comment from Erik to get him to actually get into the car.

"Hey," Riley said quietly, and his attention was immediately drawn from his ever so interesting shoelaces and towards her general direction. "So he can read minds, and he can open things or whatever; what is it that you can do?"

Her hands fluttered just above her lap as she talked, weaving amongst themselves as if helping her put together her sentences, and there was something almost hypnotic about it. Of course, he also hadn't had a lot of sleep the night before, so a lot of things were holding his attention today that wouldn't otherwise have done so.

"Er, well, I can break things. With my voice," he winced slightly as he said it, and knew that he'd have to come up with a better way to put it when he told his mother. Which would be in about five minutes.

"Do _any_ of you have non-destructive abilities?" She asked with amusement in her voice, and he frowned over at her.

"He can read minds, I don't think that counts as destructive, just invasive," he said, to which Riley smiled and shook her head at him.

"No, see, that's destructive. He's tearing through someone's most private place, he can see what they _think_, what's to stop him from manipulating that? That's the most destructive thing I've ever heard of," Sean glanced to the front and caught Charles' slight frown directed towards her. "And Erik, well, I don't know what he can really do, but I suppose his is all in how he chooses to use it."

Sean smirked over at Erik, mouthing 'door opener' at him and smiling wider when it became apparent that he was too far away for Erik to take a swipe at.

"Your minor philosophical take on mutant abilities will have to take a pause Riley; we're here, Sean," Charles announced as he turned into a gravel driveway.

Sean glanced up at the light blue house, taking in the white trim and the poppies that his little sister had planted at the front of the house. _Oh hell, I can't do this._

With slow movements and weighed down feet, he moved towards the front door, tracing his hand over the intricate design etched into the window. He rang the doorbell, and waited for someone to answer, hoping that just this one time no one would be home, that he would have to fetch the spare key from the painted rock nestling in the poppy garden; that he'd be able to pack in silence and wouldn't have to explain anything or say goodbye.

"Sean?" His mother asked, dusting flower-coated hands onto her checkered apron.

"Hello Mrs. Cassidy, my name is Charles Xavier, and this is Erik Lehnsherr, may we come in?" Sean hadn't even realized that they had followed him to his house.

Walking into his childhood home, he inhaled the scent of freshly baked cookies, and stood next to the still-open door while his mother and the two other mutants walked up the stairs, towards the living room. It wasn't until Riley came in behind them and stood next to him that he shook himself out of his stupor and shut the front door.

_Well, time to break my mother's heart._

**Sorry it's so short guys, I wanted to get this part out before heading out to work, I'll update with the rest at my usual time tonight (really really late).**


	5. Chapter 5

**I want to take a brief moment to thank both ****Valkyrie-Pleasant**** and ****Vintage-Woder**** for being such wonder reviewers; really you guys, it's great hearing from both of you (and you too, anon). It's one thing to see the hits and think **_**oh, cool, people are reading**_**, and another thing entirely to actually hear from you, so thank you again! **

**So this one's not really in anyone's "perspective" I guess. I think it's kind of self-explainatory, but I always get nervous about these things.**

He inhaled sharply, not ready to walk up the steps yet; nor to sit in his living room and watch his mother as Charles explained what they were all doing there. On the plus side, at least with everyone else here, he wouldn't have to do too much talking.

Looking up the stairs, he could just make out the edge of his sister's piano, and the light from the kitchen spilled pleasantly out into the living room and down the stairs, just barely stopping in front of where he stood.

Riley tapped his shoulder as she made her own way up the stairs, trailing her hand down his arm and looking over her shoulder at him with soft eyes; she'd left her own family behind several months ago, and knew that this would not be an easy parting.

He unsteadily followed after her, making it into the living room just in time to hear his mother's soft cry of outrage.

"What? No, Sean can't go anywhere; he's just been accepted into college! And what would the CIA even want with him? He's not old enough to have specialized in anything!" He cringed softly, hiding it the best he could behind the cover of his hair.

Charles glanced over at Sean, wondering whether it was his place to tell her or not; or if Sean would even be able to find his voice. His red hair looked so vivid against his suddenly pale skin that Charles was reminded, almost unkindly, of a carnival clown's wig.

"Mom," Sean began, his throat feeling pinched, each word scraping like rough gravel as he forced them out, "I have to go with them. I have... I _am_ specialized in something," he settled on, glancing up at her from underneath his hair, scuffing his shoes along the carpet and wiping his palms on his jeans.

She looked at him, and he knew words wouldn't work with her, wouldn't ever make her understand just what it was he could do; never allow her to see why he had to leave with Charles and Erik out into the world and away from _her_ so much sooner than she had ever expected.

He scooped up her half-empty cup of lemonade from the coffee table and made his way into the kitchen, drinking the remaining contents as he pushed the kitchen door open wider.

Turning to look behind him once he'd placed the glass in the middle of the floor, he was satisfied that everyone had followed him in; he really didn't think he could handle saying too much right now.

"You should cover your ears," he said, looking at his mom, then towards Riley who hung towards the back of the small group.

He shook out his hands, staring the cup down with an intensity that sailed past hilarity and settled somewhere within the quadrant of insanity, and began to inhale; expanding his lungs until it felt as if his ribs would poke through them.

When he couldn't hold anymore air he stooped down as close as he could get to the glass, ready to break it; a hand tugging at the back of his shirt made him straighten himself out and look over his shoulder before he could, though.

"If you're about to do what I _think_ you're about to do, being that close doesn't seem like such a good idea," Riley whispered to him, glancing from his face, to the glass on the floor, then towards his mom; still tugging lightly on his shirt to get him to stand farther back from the cup on the floor.

He smiled at her, trying to keep the breath in his lungs from getting out, and gently placed her hands back over her ears before nodding at her and turning back towards the cup; eyeing it once more as if it were the cause to all his problems.

And really, it kind of was; well, not the glass itself, he supposed, but it was a close enough comparison for him. Especially since his lungs were starting to burn from holding his breath for so long.

He opened his mouth just enough to let a small amount of air out, almost like whistling, hunched his shoulders over, and-

Broke the cup with a shriek that hurt everyone's ears despite their precautions.

He stared down at the shattered pieces, glad that he had hit just the cup this time and hadn't accidentally broken the kitchen window or something; and he was still staring at the pieces in complete silence when his momentary glee wore off.

Tilting his head just slightly to the left, he glanced at his mother without looking directly at her; somehow, looking at her felt like it would break some sort of temporary truce they had- like as soon as they made eye contact what he had just done would actually sink in.

And then she would probably cry and hit him and yell at him to get out of her house; but at least he'd be able to achieve the actual task of packing like they'd wanted to do, since she no doubt wouldn't want anything of his in her house. No object the freak owned would be allowed to stay, no reminder that he had ever been hers.

He sighed when she didn't look back at him, not even from the corner of her eye, she just continued to stand there staring at the shattered glass that littered her kitchen floor.

Kneeling down, he decided he might as well make himself useful one last time, before his mother got her wits about her and would find her voice to yell at him.

Scooping the larger bits into a pile idly, he cast his attention around the kitchen in search of the dust pan, only to have his attention drawn back down to his hand when he felt a sharp pain.

"Ow," he mumbled, staring at the small pile of blood that had already begun to form within the palm of his hand.

"Oh, Sean," his mother sighed, "this is why we have a broom; I honestly don't know how you'll take care of yourself without me around."

His mom's soft hands clasped his right one in theirs, pulling his hand closer to her face so she could search for any small pieces of glass in the cut; poking and prodding gently around the wound as she did so.

Sean watched her, eyes wide, studying every movement she made. This was his mother- the woman who made his favorite chocolate chip pancakes on days that he'd done something particularly noteworthy. The person who taught him how to mend a tear (though he would never admit to it), and who yelled as if the devil was chasing her whenever she saw even the smallest of bug; yelled out for him to come kill it or, during that one summer that his sister had grown especially fond of insects, to throw them outside. And she was applying a band-aid to his cut, as if he hadn't just shown her something that terrified even him.

She looked up at him, holding her hand to his cheek, and gave him a watery smile, "well, Sean, I suppose you're old enough to make your own choices now. And if they really need you, then I'm very proud of you," she said, studying him as if she'd never see him again.

She was looking at him now the same way she had only a couple of times in his life- the first time he'd gone trick-or-treating by himself; the day he'd gotten his driver's license; when he'd brought home his first girlfriend; graduated high school; been accepted into college. It was this look, he decided, that killed him more than her yelling _freak_ to him ever would have: she was saying goodbye to him.

"Go pack your things, I'll finish cleaning this mess up," she waved him off, shooing Erik and Charles out of the kitchen as well, "Go, go, I'm sure you need to tell him essential things about what to bring that I can't know about. The CIA, my son," she said, shaking her head lightly as she shut the kitchen door behind them and grabbed the broom.

**Well I'm going to end this one here because I'm **_**tired**_**. I honestly did not think that it would take this long just to set up them getting to the CIA. I mean, really. They still have to go to Riley's apartment, and then there's the flight there. **

**I should consider cutting things out if this is how it's going to be every time.**


End file.
